That Iron String
by lynne-monstr
Summary: Prussia's already had a crap night – tied up in an alley really isn't his thing - when Austria stumbles upon him. Neither of them are very happy about it. Written for hc bingo.


Warnings: mentions of violence and blood.

Written for hc bingo for the square: _Restrained_.

* * *

The fist drove into his stomach, exploding the air from his lungs in a violent heave. Prussia slumped and coughed, a stream of curses running through his head that he was unable to voice. Hands clamped tightly around his upper arms kept him upright and he struggled to get his feet under him to take the sudden pressure off his shoulders. Another punch to the gut, to the face, and back to the stomach, and when the hands let go the world tilted and he hit the ground.

He hadn't been this outnumbered at the beginning, he reflected between gasps for air. When this whole thing started, there were only a handful them and he hadn't thought twice before jumping in to defend their would-be victims, a pair of gawky looking boys no older than fifteen who had no business being out alone this late, and ran away in a fit of terror at the first opportunity. Prussia was having a grand time kicking ass, but when more of the group rounded the corner, it all went to hell.

He'd taken out the first several easily enough. A lifetime of battle and soldiering had honed his fighting skills to a razor-sharp edge and these kids didn't pose much of a challenge. But even his abilities could be overwhelmed in the face of sheer numbers and that's exactly what happened.

A sharp kick between the shoulders shoved him over onto his front, jolting him back to the present. He tried to lever himself up with his hands but the strength wasn't there and his arms gave out, unable to support him.

Losing a fight sucked, no matter what century it was.

With a rough tug, his arms were wrenched behind him and someone straddled his back. Shit, no way he was letting this happen. Gathering the last of his fading reserves, he bucked and kicked out, hoping to catch at least a few of them by surprise so he could roll over onto his back and get some better leverage. If he was very lucky he might even manage to reach his lost knife, ripped from his grasp and tossed aside earlier after he'd been surrounded.

The weight on his back didn't budge nor did the grip on his wrists. A faint curse and stomp to his ankle were all he got for the last ditch effort.

Prussia hissed at the sharp pain roaring up from his ankle. A sturdy boot connected with the side of his head and when the world came back into focus it was too late to stop the rope from being wound securely around his wrists. The bindings were painfully tight, too tight to slip out of, and he knew from bitter experience they would only get more uncomfortable as the night wore on. He felt someone sit on his legs, no doubt to prevent a repeat of what just happened, but Prussia was barely hanging on to consciousness as it was. They bound his feet without much of a struggle.

He lay there, breathing hard, pain radiating from fucking everywhere. Over the course of his long life, he'd endured much worse and at this point he just wanted these idiots to get bored already so he could start working to free himself and drag his exhausted ass home for some rest. And beer. Beer would be good. The only upside to this whole mess, he figured, was that no one he knew was there to see him like this. He put up with enough shit from the rest of them since his dissolution and felt no need to add insult to injury.

A hand fisting in his hair brought him out of his thoughts. It pulled, forcing his head up and craning his neck at an uncomfortable angle. Through the stinging pain in his scalp and the blood starting to flow into one eye from a graze on his brow, he was barely able to make out the visage of the group's leader leering down into his face.

Hand twisting harder into his hair, he spat at the pavement in front of Prussia's face. "Not so tough now, are you, red-eyed freak?"

Really, this is what he was bested by? Prussia could have cried at the cliché of it all. He forced a smirk and a laugh, channeling all the times when even after his army had been defeated in battle, he would never let his enemy have the satisfaction of seeing Prussia himself defeated or cowed. "Let's go one-on-one and settle that question. I'd wipe the floor with you."

At this point, Prussia doubted he could wipe the floor with Sealand, let alone this asshole, but the first rule of being awesome was never letting your opponent see anything but absolute confidence.

He obviously hadn't lost his edge over the years, because the hand in his hair slackened and the dark haired leader pulled back from him that slightest bit, wariness flashing across his face. He recovered before anyone else could notice, leering at Prussia.

Prussia smirked right back.

"You gonna fight him?" a voice chimed out from somewhere on the right.

"Of course not, you idiot. He's trying to get us to untie him."

"I'll fight him," came a different voice, rough and eager. Prussia wondered if it was the one with the wrist tattoo and custom knife who cut him earlier.

"No. Take his wallet and phone and let's get out of here," was the response from the leader, hand still fisted tightly in his hair.

Prussia was fine with that plan. The sooner they left the sooner he could get himself out of this shithole. And it's not like he had much cash in there anyway; everything was electronic these days, didn't these idiots know that. In fact, he fervently hoped they tried to use his bank cards. It would be a perfect starting place when he went to track them down later.

"Nice knife."

It was that same rough voice, and out of the corner of his eye Prussia saw someone crouched down in the general area where he knew his knife lay abandoned. The person straightened, and the blade gleamed dully in the meager light. "Mine now." Definitely wrist-tattoo, Prussia decided, and damn it he liked that knife.

A hand reached into his back pocket and plucked out his wallet.

"We're just leaving him here?

"Yeah. Someone will probably find him in the morning. If not, well, not our problem."

The fist in hair tightened painfully and the leader was back in his face again. "If you tell anyone about this, I will find you, kill you, and make it hurt."

"In that order?" Prussia rolled his eyes. God, this was lame. Apparently, their fearless leader didn't like that and took out another piece of twine-like rope (seriously, how much of that stuff did he have), fitted it tightly over Prussia's eyes, and wrapped it around his head several times, blindfolding him.

The world went dark.

He didn't know what purpose it was supposed to serve, as he had already seen them all. Most likely the guy was just a dick and pissed off that Prussia still wasn't acting scared of him. There was a soft shuffling, probably him standing back up.

Without warning, the impact of sneakers and boots slammed into him from all sides. Agony ripped through his torso, legs, face, sides. He didn't try to fight back, aware that he was seriously outnumbered and rendered immobile, and when both those happened at once there was no choice but to try and minimize the damage and wait for the battle to end. So Prussia clamped his jaw shut and refused to cry out and waited for it to be over.

When he was sure they were gone, he waited some more, because he liked being extra sure. And had absolutely no intention of serving as their fucking entertainment as he worked to get free. (He might have passed out in the process of being extra sure, but that was completely irrelevant.)

Even without his sight, he had a clear picture of his surroundings. Knowing your terrain was important. He was half way down a deep alley, and he remembered plenty of garbage and debris scattered around. Specifically, a glass beer bottle near the far wall.

Pushing through the pain, he rolled over and sat up. Slowly, he inched his way over in what he determined was the right direction.

Finally, he bumped against the corner of the alley and, back facing the brick wall, started searching blindly with his hands. Paper, wet paper, something slimy (banana peel?), and more paper, but nothing useful yet. In order to search the most area, he'd positioned himself about a meter from the wall, and had to lean back to reach all the ground; by the time he fumbled his fingers around a bottle shaped object, Prussia's abdominal muscles were on fire from supporting his entire upper body.

Grasping his precious find tightly, he scooted backwards and slumped against the wall, savoring the relief as the sharp muscle burn faded away. He was sweating and breathing heavily from the exertion and took a moment to bring himself back under control.

Fuck. This was not how he anticipated spending his Friday night.

When he no longer felt like he'd been put through his own basic training, he broke the bottle against the ground. The shatter of glass seemed ridiculously loud in the otherwise silent alley. After a couple false starts he found a suitable shard and began sawing against the ropes entwined around his wrists.

Time passed, though he wasn't sure how much, and he kept at it. The damn ropes were stubbornly holding fast and all he had to show for his efforts so far was multiple cuts on his fingers, palms, and wrists from the glass. His shoulders were already aching from the strain of being pulled behind him and his wrists were a bloody mess of rope burns, he was sure. But he kept at it, knowing firsthand that it would eventually cut through.

The sound of soft, muffled footfalls from the mouth of the alley caused him to immediately freeze up.

* * *

Prussia strained his ears. No other sounds, so probably only one person coming. Good. He still felt like shit, but had managed to regain some of his strength in the interim. If whoever was approaching thought he was still down, then Prussia held the element of surprise and he had every intention of wielding it to its full advantage. He feigned unconsciousness, hoping it was too dark for the mystery visitor to have noticed his previous movements.

He consulted his mental map of the area. His search for the bottle started at the far corner and he'd worked his way along quite a bit before finding it. So even though he had his back to the wall, there was most likely another wall decently close by to his left. Again, good.

The footsteps started coming faster, until they became the steady slapping patter of running. Something, he assumed a hand, grazed the ripped edge of his t-shirt near a nasty cut at his right shoulder he remembered getting earlier. He felt a warm puff of breath against his face. Whoever this was, they must be standing directly in front of him.

Leading with the top of his forehead, he clenched his teeth lightly and whipped forward with his upper body. Pain exploded behind his eyes. It was more than expected and a clear indication that he missed his primary target; it wouldn't have hurt that much if he'd hit the guy's nose. Already blind, Prussia didn't experience the full range of disorientation resulting from a bad impact. But it still hurt like a bitch. He usually hated headbutting people for that exact reason – it hurt like all hell and he would be paying with a massive headache later.

The mystery man cried out in a high voice, which was perfect because now Prussia knew exactly where he was. In one lightning quick motion he braced himself against the wall, raised his bound legs to waist height, and swept out, right to left, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction when they collided against a large bulk. He also felt a deep sense of pain from what he assumed was a serious cut on his side, but it got shoved away with the other non-essential information.

There was the distinctive thud of a body hitting the wall to his left and subsequently sliding down. Using his thrust from the improvised kick, he pivoted on his backside towards the sound, so he was facing the other wall. And damn he was good. From the sound, that other wall was pretty close to where he thought it would be. He shot his legs forward, extending them almost fully until he felt the soft give of flesh and bone between his sneakers and unyielding brick.

In this new position, he wasn't able to brace his back against the wall, but he did manage to kind of wedge his left shoulder and upper arm against it. His bound hands rested solidly on the ground behind him, one palm flat on the ground and the other fisted protectively around the glass shard, both providing additional stability. The rest of his leverage was supplied through sheer muscle strength and force of will (he spared a moment to think, darkly, that this was a much better workout than endless crunches and sit-ups could ever be; maybe he should do it more often). If he had to guess, he would say he had the other man pinned by the neck. He grinned fiercely and increased the pressure.

A choking sound emanated from in front of him. Prussia grinned wider. Even tied up he was fucking awesome!

"Prs—saaa—" more strangled sounds, "Prssssa." Wait. That almost sounded like his name. No one knew that name except the other—"Prussia!" Another round of choking noises and wheezing breaths emanated from the man pinned in front of him.

That was definitely his name. What the fuck. He released the pressure on what he decided was most certainly the man's neck, but only slightly, in case this was some sort of trick. Instinctively, his eyes strained behind the blindfold, trying to make out any images and see who this was. It was a useless effort; there was nothing but blackness.

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded brusquely. He suddenly, desperately wanted his sight back. He felt completely exposed in a way that that hadn't even entered his mind when he thought this was simply another human.

"P-Prussia, stop." The voice was more of a rasp now. "It's me. It's Austria." His voice was deep, far deeper than Austria's usual tone. But that could be from the near strangulation. It had a tendency to do that.

Specs? Of all the people to find him here like this, it had to be fucking Austria. And he thought tonight couldn't get any suckier. Without realizing it, Prussia kicked out again in embarrassed frustration. Another choked off sound came from the man – from Austria – and Prussia felt hands on his ankles trying to push him away.

The last people who grabbed him there had kicked the shit out of him and tied him up. Pure reflex caused him to go on the attack again as his heartbeat coursed loudly in his ears. The hands quickly retracted.

Another series of noises, but the voice was weaker now and it was definitely Austria. Prussia didn't need to make out the words to know Austria wanted him to let up.

He forced himself to calm down and slowly withdrew his legs until they were pulled up in front of him, knees near his chest, feet firmly on the ground.

Austria didn't speak, just continued to pant heavily, no doubt readjusting to the sensation of being able to take in air again. Eventually, the sounds of his breathing evened out. "Prussia," he said softly, voice still somewhat distorted from the abuse inflicted on his throat.

Prussia was quite familiar with his name and was getting sick of hearing it said aloud to him.

"Prussia, what did you get yourself into this time?" Underneath the gravelly voice and bitchy words Austria might have sounded concerned and Prussia wasn't sure if that was better or worse than being mocked.

That damned blindfold meant he couldn't see the aristocratic pain in his ass, but he angled his head right at where the voice came from. "Fuck you specs, go home." He could take care of himself and didn't need help or sympathy from fucking Austria, of all people. Shit, all he needed now was for Russia to show up to make this night complete.

Out of nowhere, Prussia felt a hand on his face and flinched back violently, almost toppling backwards in the process. Only his tied hands, still propped against the ground behind him, saved him from completely losing his balance. "If you don't want me to headbutt you again, then back the fuck up," he demanded. It was, unfortunately, a mostly empty threat now that he'd lost the element of surprise.

He could hear Austria sigh. That arrogant ass. But he didn't try to touch him again.

"Really, Prussia. I was going to remove your blindfold, but if you prefer to keep it on, fine." Austria was using that lecturing tone Prussia was so familiar with and which never failed to grate on him. "I think it rather suits you," he added snidely.

In his mind's eye, Prussia could picture in perfect detail the sneer his old rival was no doubt sporting. Austria could be so predictable.

"Fine," Prussia spat out. "Take the damn thing off."

"Ask nicely," Austria taunted.

That fuck, he was enjoying this. "Fuck off," Prussia repeated. "I'll do it myself. Just leave already." Even with the recent scuffle, he hadn't lost his grip on the glass shard, could feel the reassuring presence of sharp edges cutting into his palm inside the tight fist he kept around it. He shifted and straightened to get into a more suitable position and resumed his assault on the ropes still holding his wrists. Once they were free he'd take the damn blindfold off himself. He didn't need his eyes right now anyway.

Austria sighed again, but to his surprise Prussia felt hands back on his face.

It was so tempting to lash out again. Being seen bound and largely helpless like this was bad enough; even more so, he hated being touched while in such a vulnerable position. The fact that it was Austria doing both made it so much worse. But he forced himself not to react, and accepted the aid.

The rope burned the fragile skin around his eyes as Austria tried to coax it up and above his brow, but he didn't complain because no way in hell was he going to let that sissy see him in pain. Part of him expected him to go ahead and yank the thing up, regardless of the damage it would cause, but that didn't happen. After not making any progress, Austria must have given up because the hands pulled away.

"This isn't working. That rope is going to rub your face raw if I continue. I'm walking around behind you to work on the knot instead." Austria spoke calmly without inflection.

While he was grateful for the narration (not that he would ever admit it aloud), it also dug at his pride. It stung because he knew Austria was doing it deliberately to compensate for the fact that he couldn't see, and the last thing he wanted was to be seen as weak in front of such a long-time adversary.

Again Prussia felt hands, this time on the back of his head. His own hands tensed in their bonds and all of his instincts screamed at him to strike out and neutralize the threat at his back. But he and Austria hadn't been serious enemies for a long time and Prussia did nothing to impede his work now. Also, that fucking rope blindfold itched like crazy and he really did want it off.

He continued to work at the ropes securing his hands while Austria attempted to loosen the knot behind his head. "Don't you have a knife or something," Prussia asked irritably.

"Not all of us walk around armed all the time." Austria paused. "Why aren't you carrying a weapon?"

"What am I, an idiot?" Before Austria could interrupt with the obvious comeback (he set himself up for that, really), Prussia continued, "I had a knife, they took it. Don't you think if I still had it, that would have been the first thing I told you. Moron."

Austria ignored that, though they both knew the real reason why Prussia may not have disclosed a weapon that was on his person but out of reach in his current position. It was the same reason he recoiled each time Austria touched him. Trust was a prickly and often elusive thing between nations.

Finally, Prussia felt the rope around his eyes loosen and moments later Austria unwound it completely. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to make the world lose some of its fuzziness. Dried blood from the wound near his temple was crusted in one eye, adding to his difficulties, and the thin skin under his eyes was irritated and itchy. A dark shape filled up the top right corner of his vision and it took him a moment to place it as being Austria, now standing in front of him.

Prussia went to rub his eyes, to both clear his vision and take care of the maddening itching, only to be brought up short when his arms wouldn't budge. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, struggling uselessly against the restraints out of sheer frustration before re-attacking the rope. Stupid fucking rope, stupid fucking glass, stupid fucking everything. He wanted to get the fuck out of this damn alley and away from Austria and go home.

"Here, let me." Austria moved towards him again and crouched down behind him, and Prussia felt him try to take the glass shard from his hand.

Prussia clenched it into a fist, feeling the sharp edges bite into his palm. Another cut, he knew, ignoring it. "I don't need your damn help," he hissed. "Go the fuck home!"

"Fine," Austria said curtly, getting back to his feet and brushing the loose dirt from his clothes. "Have a nice evening." He smiled tightly, lips pressed together, then turned on his heel and began to walk, very composed as usual, out of the alley.

* * *

Prussia watched him go with mixed feelings. The ache in his shoulders had gone from a dull roar to an incessant pounding and he both relished and dreaded the thought of being able to move them freely once more. He refocused on the glass in his palm and the ropes at his wrists.

He'd been alone all his life and didn't plan to start relying on anyone now.

At the mouth of the alley, Austria paused and looked back over his shoulder. "You're really not going to ask me to stay and help?" he called out, incredulous.

Prussia looked over towards where he stood, a dark figure in the dim light. "I told you, I don't need your stupid help!" Austria was stupid like that, he thought, never knowing when he wasn't wanted, which was always. He turned away and ignored him again.

Austria, though, was not ignoring him. He turned around and began to walk back towards where Prussia sat bound on the floor. He squatted down so they were at eye level. "You're such an idiot," he said softly, and Prussia could almost swear there was fondness in his voice. "I know that you don't _need_ my help. I'm offering it anyway."

"Why?" Prussia spit out. "We don't even like each other."

"No," Austria agreed softly, more to himself than anything. He cleared his throat. "No, we don't," he repeated, louder this time. "You're a constant irritation. But the offer still stands."

For once, Prussia had nothing to say in response, and crinkled his brow in confusion and thought. He continued to state at Austria, neither speaking, until Austria broke the silence.

He gestured at Prussia's pinned hands. "May I?"

Prussia could feel the blood coating his fingers, at once sticky and slippery and imagined he must look like a wreck. Bruised, cut up, tied hand and foot, and hands dripping with his own blood. He would succeed in cutting through the ropes eventually and then it would be a simple matter to untie the bonds at his feet (he steadfastly ignored the small but growing doubt questioning if he would succeed before the lack of circulation numbed his fingers beyond all use). But Austria was here and offering to speed up the process and in truth, Prussia was exhausted. He was tired, and his abrasions and cuts hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to dress his injuries and go to bed. And then tomorrow he would start hunting down the pack that ganged up on him. That last thought made him feel better already.

Austria's question was still hanging over him unanswered.

"Fine. Do it," he answered. If Austria was an ass about this, he decided, he would just headbutt him again.

Shifting to crouch behind him, Austria went to work on the ropes fixed around his wrists.

"You can drop the glass, you know," he said suddenly, casually. "Unless, that is, you're planning on using it on me once you're free." Austria paused, as if contemplating that exact scenario. "Please tell me you're not."

Prussia dropped the glass. "I'm not."

Austria continued speaking, as if they were making small talk at a dinner party. "You were about halfway through the rope, if you were wondering."

In fact, Prussia had been wondering but wasn't about to admit that out loud. "I knew that," he said instead.

Austria scoffed, but didn't call him out on the lie. Shortly after, Prussia felt the ropes slacken a bit, and started pulling at them in his haste to be rid of the constraints.

"Stop squirming," Austria scolded. "You're making it harder."

Prussia was about to counter that he was not squirming, he was shifting, when he felt the rope finally being pulled off from around his wrists. As soon as it was done he immediately brought them forward, and his shoulders protested as loudly as he knew they would.

After rubbing the dried blood out of his eye, he alternated between slowly rotating his shoulders and rubbing circulation back into his wrists and fingers. He was careful to avoid the tender spots where his skin was rubbed raw from the restraints, or cut from the glass.

Austria started picking at the bindings lashing his ankles together and crap, Prussia hadn't even noticed him move out from behind him.

"Not necessary. See?" Prussia waved his arms around, ignoring the deep ache the movement caused. "I have arms now. I'm good." He leaned forward to start loosening the remaining ties himself.

"Didn't we just discuss this?" Austria asked, exasperated, batting Prussia's hands away gently. "Stop it. Get the feeling back in your arms, we both know it takes a while. I'll handle this."

Reluctantly, Prussia relented and let Austria untie him. Soon his legs were free as well. He immediately pulled them in and sat cross-legged, taking the pressure off his back and stomach that sitting with his knees up had caused.

Austria remained in front of him, sitting in the tight gap between Prussia and the wall, mirroring his position. Their knees nearly touched in the small space.

Prussia turned ninety degrees to his right so his back was to the wall his left shoulder had been propped against, and leaned into it, staring straight ahead but keeping Austria at the edge of his sight.

He gave a muttered, "Thank you," because as much as he wasn't a prim and prissy wuss, he was versed in basic courtesies. And he didn't want to give Austria anything to hold over him later.

Though his voice was low, Austria heard him anyway, and nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm tired," he abruptly followed up with. "Are you well enough to make it home?"

"Of course I am."

"Of course you are," Austria echoed, that strange almost-fondness back in his voice. "Regardless, come back to my house. We'll clean your injuries and you can sleep in one of the spare bedrooms."

Prussia snorted. "Fuck no. I think we've had enough of each other for one night."

"As much as I'm inclined to agree, do you really wish to disturb your brother at this time of night with the state you're in."

That gave Prussia pause. He really didn't want West to worry, and staggering through the door with cuts, bruises, scrapes, and rope burns at fuck-o'clock in the morning was a sure way to do exactly that. "Fine," he answered, resigned. He turned his head to glare at Austria. "But I'm only doing this for West."

"Of course you are," Austria repeated with a condescending smile.

That passive-aggressive, manipulative ass, thought Prussia, though without his usual vehemence. For his entire life, Prussia's strength had always been in physical violence, but he could appreciate that Austria was as effective a fighter using words. Looking back, it's almost a shame they'd been constantly at each other's throats throughout history. Had they ever seriously and consistently joined forces they might have ruled the world.

Shaking that flight of fancy aside, Prussia pushed himself to his feet and was hit by an unexpected wave of dizziness. He staggered into the wall behind him and leaned against it to wait for the world to stop spinning. Austria didn't try to help him, which he was thankful for, and he kept any snide comments about Prussia's strength to himself, which he was doubly grateful for. Not that he would ever say so.

The world righted itself and, slowly, they made their way out of the alley. Prussia noticed that Austria didn't stray far from his side. Probably to mock him if he ended up passing out, he figured, but that wasn't going to happen. He'd taken much worse beatings during and after various wars and walked away and this would be no different.

As they continued to walk at a slow, methodical pace, Prussia noticed for the first time since Austria removed his blindfold, what exactly the other man was wearing. A tuxedo. Granted, it was now a ruined tuxedo; the dress shirt in particular was stained with dirt from Prussia's sneakers (and Austria would be sporting an impressive set of bruises along his throat come morning that Prussia couldn't wait to see). But even for him this attire was extreme and well beyond the familiar aristocratic airs he refused to let go of, even though no one cared anymore.

"Do you really miss those sissy cravats so much you declared it formal night?"

Austria cleared his throat impertinently. "As I recall, Prussia, you spent a great deal of time donning that particular garment as well."

"That's completely different," he argued. "I made it look good."

He was met with a prim scoff. "If you must know, I was on my way back from the opera. It was excellent, not that you'd care."

Usually, Prussia would give him shit about that, but tonight he let it slide. "We're a long way from Vienna," he contented himself with instead.

Crap lighting on the deserted street notwithstanding, it was easy to see Austria's face redden, even in profile. "Well, um, I got…I got a little lost."

Prussia burst out laughing. Classic.

"I was getting my bearings when two young boys ran past me. They were scared. Claimed they were attacked, but someone saved them and he was probably dead." Austria looked at him pointedly. "So I went to investigate."

One mystery solved; Austria wasn't actually stalking him. That was a relief, at least.

Prussia refused to meet his gaze and stared straight ahead. They walked in silence, save for the echo of footsteps. "That was stupid," he said at last, turning his head to look at him. "What if they were still there? You'd have gotten your ass kicked." The mental image brought back old memories. He wondered idly if he still had that portrait of Austria's beaten face from back during their first real war with each other. Those were good days, he remembered warmly.

"It wouldn't be the first time," was the response, unknowingly echoing Prussia's own thoughts. "Besides," he added, looking mildly pleased with himself, "if I hadn't, you'd still be in that alley."

Prussia flipped him off.

When they arrived at Austria's house, Prussia immediately took a much needed half-shower half-sponge-bath, careful not to aggravate his open wounds too much. He redressed in his black boxer briefs and assessed his injuries. They were, he was happy to note, not bleeding much anymore; he'd always been a quick healer. There was a wicked knife slash at his right shoulder, various cuts along his arms and torso and face, and a nasty looking gash on his right flank near his hip that wrapped around to his back. That wasn't counting the abundance of abrasions, scrapes, and bruises mottling the rest of his skin. The visible bruises were only the worst of them, he knew. Tomorrow he'd be greeted with the rest.

Alone in the privacy of Austria's guest bathroom, he disinfected and wrapped everything except for the gash where he couldn't reach on his lower back. Normally he would have no trouble with that particular spot, but his shoulders were stiff and sore from being wrenched behind him for so long and had apparently gone on strike. Sighing, he left the bathroom and went to find Austria.

They were closer to enemies than friends, but Prussia knew exactly where Austria would be found. He bee-lined for the piano room, completely unselfconscious about wandering the large house clad only in his undergarments. He spent most of his life in the military, after all. And, he thought cheekily, he looked damn good. Nothing to be ashamed of.

His host was, as expected, at the piano. He'd showered and changed as well, Prussia noticed, into a pair of loose fitting navy cotton pants and gray t-shirt. And was obviously expecting him, as evidenced by the first aid supplies neatly laid out next to the piano bench. Prussia tried not to be irritated at that fact.

"My back," he said, announcing his presence. "I can't reach."

Austria stopped playing but didn't turn around, evidently waiting for Prussia to continue.

He fidgeted in the entrance to the room, fingers of one hand plucking at the bandages around the opposite wrist. "I can't reach it," he repeated. "Will you…" he trailed off, not quite knowing how to ask for help, even when it was being so blatantly offered.

Austria turned towards the doorway. If Prussia's state of undress or shitload of bandages and bruises shocked him, he didn't show it. "Will I what?" he asked, and the tone of voice made Prussia want to punch him in the face all over again.

"God damn it!" he erupted. "Will you help me. You're such an ass!"

Contrary to being mad, as Prussia had expected, Austria burst into raucous laughter. It turned out to be one of those times when laughter was infectious, and even though Prussia was pissed as hell at his old enemy, he could only fight it for so long and soon started laughing as well. A hiss escaped him because damn it, laughing hurt, but he couldn't stop. "I hate you," he managed to spit out in between breathless gasps for air.

The laughter ran its course between them and died down. "The feeling is mutual," replied Austria warmly, completely unruffled despite their antics. "Now come here already and let me see your back."

Twenty minutes later, Prussia was upstairs in the guest bedroom. He chucked off his boxer briefs and collapsed into sleep with the ghost of a smile still on his face.


End file.
